No Longer an Angel
by a-few-of-these-verses
Summary: Set one year after The Reichenbach Fall, John Watson turns to a life of vigilante crime, seeking revenge against each of Moriarty's henchmen. Rated T for now, though it may turn into an M later.
1. Chapter 1

At first, John Watson felt despair.

Nothing could convince him that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud. There was no way that he was lied to for over a year by his best friend. None of it made sense, and nobody believed him. His psychiatrist tried to make him open up to her, but John kept a good majority of his feelings inside. Just saying that Sherlock was dead was emotionally exhausting. He lived in the flat alone, and was often visited by Mrs. Hudson. She was frustrated at Sherlock's suicide and had no one else to turn to for help. Sherlock was like a son to her. Mrs. Hudson watched John's limp come back and pitied him, but John didn't want to be pitied. All he wanted was for Sherlock to walk up the stairs of 221B Baker Street. Days and weeks passed, and John's wish was left empty and untouched.

Now, one year later, John Watson was angry.

Normally, he wasn't one to hold a grudge against a man, but something within him snapped. He heard the gossip about Sherlock every day. He read the stories in the newspaper as they unfolded. Moriarty's story had captivated the nation, and though the evidence was thin, the public believed the lies. Lestrade had been demoted at the Yard, and as a result began to drink heavily. Hopelessness was everywhere.

John was lying on the sofa when it happened. He'd been running a finger over his pistol when he heard Sherlock in his head.

"_What the hell are you doing?"_

"_Bored."_

"_What?"_

"_Bored!"_

He looked at the gun, and then looked at the wall. The face was far too happy to be smiling. Moriarty was like that. He would smile when the most evil things would happen. John aimed and fired. A hole was now where the left eye was.

"Let's see if we can do this again," he muttered. _Ready, aim, fire!_

The second eye was gone.

"Who's smiling now, you bastard."

John put the pistol down and shut his eyes. If only he had the chance to get rid of Moriarty, none of this would have happened. The night at the pool flashed before him. If it hadn't been for Moriarty's gunmen, the drama wouldn't have occurred-

John's eyes flew open. Moriarty's gunmen. They were probably still out there, creating havoc and killing innocent people. He looked at the wall again. Moriarty may have escaped his wrath, but there was no way in hell that he was going to let the others survive.


	2. Chapter 2

John sat on the sofa and stared at his phone. It wasn't going to be an easy call, and he had to keep his voice sounding as normal as possible. Mycroft Holmes would be able to hear any abnormalities. He took a deep breath and pressed the send button.

Mycroft answered on the second ring.

"John?"

"Hi, Mycroft."

"What a pleasant surprise. I wasn't expecting a call from you."

John shifted in his seat, pen and paper in his hand. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"I haven't spoken to you since the funeral. Naturally, I have been keeping tabs on you."

"I know you have. Ever since you kidnapped me I've kept an eye on the cameras."

"Your life has been quite dull, John. Those tapes have been quite ordinary."

He smirked. Nothing had happened to him. That was about to change. "I phoned because I had a question, Mycroft."

"Right, let me guess, this has to do with my late brother."

"Sort of. I was wondering if you still had the names of my former sniper neighbors."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. "And what prompted this curiosity?"

"They've all moved out, and I was wondering what happened to them. I haven't seen or heard anything about the men who wanted to kill Sherlock."

"I suppose I could send you the files. This is just a natural curiosity?"

"I just want to know who they were. We weren't exactly neighborly when they lived here."

Mycroft chuckled. "No, neither parties were. I'll email you the list soon. Now it's my turn to be curious, John. How have you been?"

"I'm holding up."

"Your limp has come back."

"Yeah, it has."

"And you're still seeing Ella for therapy. I thought I told you when we first met that you should fire her."

"Well I did stop seeing her."

"Until my brother died."

"Until your brother died."

"You're also studying cases at the Yard in your free time. I know being a doctor can be dull, but-"

"It keeps me busy, Mycroft."

"I see."

"Look, Mycroft, I have to go. I think I hear Mrs. Hudson calling," John lied.

"Yes, of course. I'll be sure to send you the list of your former neighbors."

"Thanks."

"You're quite welcome. Goodbye, John."

"Bye, Mycroft."

He hit the end call button on his cell and picked up the pad of paper and pen. _Call Mycroft for names _was quickly crossed out. John grabbed his cane and limped to the kitchen. It was so clean these days; it drove him crazy. Sherlock's equipment no longer cluttered the tables, and the microwave was free of experiments. John opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of pasta leftovers from lunch. He rarely ate out anymore. There were too many stares and murmurs around him when he left the flat. John heated his dinner and moved back to the living room, surfing the channels on his telly. He settled for the news, and soon found himself hoping for a murder case. "Sherlock would be proud," he muttered. He felt his stomach knot at the memories. He finally knew what it was like to be bored in life and regretted yelling at Sherlock all of those months ago. His luck was changing, and Mycroft was the key to escaping the dull monotony that his had become.


End file.
